Parent-Teacher Conferences: Weechester
by Kishin Something-or-other
Summary: This is a Weechester story of what happens when John goes to Sam and Dean's school for parent-teacher conferences. They've been in Michigan for the whole semester and have even started to make a life in their small apartment. John begins to have his own regrets as he finds out secrets from his sons' lives that he never knew. Starts in John's p.o.v and moves to two of Sam and Dean's
1. Chapter 1: John

**I finally posted a new story! Hope you enjoy! Disclaimer: I don't actually know much about Marquette, where this takes place, so I kinda just made stuff up about it :) Also I don't own Supernatural etc etc.**

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John

 _To the parent(s) of Samuel and Dean Winchester,_

 _The time has come for the first semester parent-teacher conferences, held at Sandy Knoll School on Janurary 11, from 11am to 7pm. You are encouraged to attend, so your student(s)' teachers can have a chance to talk to you about what goes on in the classroom. We look forward to your attendance!_

 _*For more information, please contact the Marquette Board of Education_

 _Sincerely,_

 _Heather Edger_

 _President, Marquette Board Of Education_

John Winchester glared at the foreign-looking slip of yellow paper in his hands. He hadn't seen one of these since his senior year in high school when, as he remembered all too clearly, his mother had come home and started crying about how she couldn't bear to see him going off to the Marines. That had been the last time he had anything to do with a school conference.

John had gotten the invitation in the mail only minutes before Sammy and Dean came home together, and he had to hide his horrified expression at the realization that he would have to go. They had moved to Marquette for a hunting job, but it was the middle of winter so they had been there since September before getting snowed in. It was bad enough that John tried not to go to anything like this, but the teachers would want to meet him, especially after four months.

Sam and Dean went to Sandy Knoll School, a K-8 public school where Sammy (4th grade) and Dean (8th grade) could be together but apart. It was one of the first times that Sam and Dean had gone to school and not been put in a classroom together, and now, four months later, they were just becoming used to that fact. John was glad to see that they were no longer so attached to each other, but at the same time he was concerned that they would become attached to people from the area, making it harder to leave.

"So what's for dinner?"

John nearly jumped back as he looked up to see Dean standing in front of him. He must have come up when John was thinking. _Stupid._

Trying to look chill, John shrugged. Dean was almost 13 now. He was in the middle of a growth spurt and, though he was still short, he was catching up to John. Slowly. Puberty was doing good things for him.

"Check the fridge." John told him, moving over to the table in the kitchen. They had been renting an apartment (which was a first), and though it had cost more than the usual motel, John had decided that the boys could use something halfway decent for once. He told them not to get used to it.

Dean went over to the full-sized white fridge in the corner of the tiny kitchen. He looked inside and threw a glare at John before pulling out an empty egg container. And milk.

"I'm taking Sammy to the place up the road." Pause. "I got some money from a job I worked a few weeks ago." He looked a little reluctant to tell John that, and for good reasoning. John was instantly suspicious.

"What job?" He asked a little harshly.

"I mowed some lawns. I needed money for Sam." Dean murmured. He refused to meet John's eyes, and instead went to his and Sam's room to grab his brother. They left the apartment without another word.

John looked to the door that Sammy had shut so carefully and then down at the paper in his hand. The 11th was only two days away. Who know how the boys were doing. Honestly, John didn't really care. They were probably enjoying their time off the job. He sighed and went to look for something to eat.

It came faster than expected.

John was snapped into focus when he realized that he was already in the school parking lot, which was, of course, packed. He looked out the window of his '67 Chevy Impala, watching the parents of normal schoolchildren walking up to the school like they did it every day. Oh wait. Some of them did.

He got out of the car and began picking his way through the sea of vans and Hondas to where the front entrance. Damn this school was huge. The double doors were swarming with normal people, none of whom seemed to have any weapons on them. _I remember when I was like that,_ John thought bitterly. A normal teenager who exceled at math and science.

For a moment John felt a blooming, bittersweet feeling of pity for his boys. Before Mary had died they had been a normal family. He and Mary had planned everything. Sammy and Dean would go to the best private school from kindergarten to 8th grade, and then go to the public high school in Lawrence, Kansas. It would have been perfect.

John shook his head and awkwardly pushed his way through the crowd. He pulled out the little slip of paper that Sammy had given him at the start of the school year of both his and Dean's teachers. He decided to go to Sammy's first, knowing that Dean would probably be a bit more of a handful. Like father, like son.

The first classroom was on the second level of the structure – the elementary part of the school. It was Sammy's English class, as well as his art class. John was once again taken back to some of the pictures that he had painted. Maybe Sammy was as good an artist as he used to be, though John was momentarily appalled at the thought that he would waste his time on that.

The room was all the way down the hall and on the left. A young woman, probably a mother, walked into the classroom before him. John followed her though and was faced with a traditional English class. The walls were covered with drawings by students of sunshine and rainbows and posters of rules and memes. _They should have grown up like this…_

He looked across the room, seeing the rows of desks, each with a nametag and a drawing on it. Sammy's desk was near the back, but he recognized the anti-possession symbol on the nametag with a pang of guilt. The desk next to him, belonging to some kid named Carly, had a drawing of a realistic-looking cat on the desk. Sam had an incredibly detailed drawing of a werewolf.

"Are you Sam's dad?" a female voice made him turn, which left him face-to-face with who he assumed was Sam's teacher. "I'm Cara Finn. I'm Sam's English teacher."

John gave a stupidly small smile as he took her in. She was beautiful, probably 25. She looked like she was fresh out of college. If she had been a high school teacher, she wouldn't have lasted the first week.

"Yeah. I mean, hi. I'm John. John Winchester. I'm Sam's father." He said quickly. Cara gave him a strange look and managed a smile.

"Your boy's a really talented artist, you know." When John said nothing, she gestured towards two empty seats. "Here, why don't we sit down."

They walked over to the seats and sat in silence for a moment. John cringed inwardly, realizing that this was the first time he'd ever done this.

"You know, Sam's very quiet. I don't know if you knew that or not, but I don't think I've seen him talking to any of the other students." A hint of concern edged its way into her voice. "All he does is sit and take notes and draw symbols on his papers." Pause. "He's a great kid and he has such a big heart, but none of the other kids know that. He refuses to speak to them. I don't think it's healthy for Sam to be that secluded. He's an incredibly bright kid. I mean, he aces all of his tests and does his homework, and his essays are amazing. The problem is that they're also very... Detailed. He writes about things that I don't think kids his age should know. Demons? Ghosts? And even if he does have knowledge on those things, he writes like those are his personal experiences. He draws pentagrams, Mr. Winchester. That's not what a 4th grader should be thinking."

John stared in silence. _No, Sammy, no. People don't need to know this._ After a moment he finally found his voice. "He watches a lot of… horror movies."

"Horror movies?!" Cara's voice rose just a tad. "Most of the movies that that kind of stuff is found in are rated "R" at least!"

This time John cringed visibly. "I-It was really nice talking to you, but I have to go now." He got up quickly and banged his elbow on the desk next to him, but that didn't stop his frantic attempt to leave Cara Finn's classroom.

"Mister Winchester! Please, your boy needs help. I haven't been a teacher for very long but I have _never_ seen anything like Sam. He refuses to do speeches, and even when he does they're extremely short. He needs _help._ " Her voice was edging on frantic, but John's thoughts had already moved ahead to Sammy. What exactly was he writing?

"I have to go." He was almost at the door when Cara was suddenly in front of him, a startled look on her face. John knew what she was getting at, considering he'd thought of it himself, but he knew that if he thought about it he would break. No way.

"Look, I need to show you something." She grabbed his hand and half-dragged him over to her desk. She forced him into a chair that was pulled up and started rummaging in her filing cabinets. She pulled out a sheet of paper.

"Sam drew this. I think that you know what's going on, but what I don't understand is why you would not get your son help. This is repelling other kids away from him, and he's depressed. Please let me at least help him."

John looked down at the picture that had made its way into his hands. It was a drawing of a man in a suit, incredibly pale and middle aged. His hair was silver and slicked back, but his eyes were blank spaces on his face. It was the first shape shifter that Sammy had ever seen, the one that John took Sam to help him hunt right before they ended up in Michigan. The image of shedding shifter burned into John's memory, and he knew he never should have taken Sammy. He overdid it that time.

"What is this?" Cara demanded. "I've gotten to know Sam since when he got here. He isn't like other boys, but he wants to be. He refuses to get close to them because he actually believes that he'll hurt them." She fell silent and buried her head in her hands. "He's such a sweet boy."

John stared. His mouth was half-open, yet no sound came out. He was at a complete loss for words.

"Look, I'm sorry you feel that way, but I really have to go." He managed finally. The words felt sluggish on his tongue, and his vision blurred a little. He stood up as if he were in a bad dream and moved towards the door. Cara followed him out and watched him walk down the hall. John could feel her eyes burning into his back.

He turned into the stairwell and sat quietly on one of the steps. There was nobody there now, so he took his chance to just breathe. Against his will, John's regrets began to surface, all at once. _Why now, dammit!_ He cursed Sam for letting Cara in on his life, though he knew that it was only a matter of time.

It was true – no 8-year-old should have to go through what Sammy had been through. In fact, nobody should. John knew this, but he also knew that whatever killed Mary was still out there, and whatever it was could be hunting him and his children. He would rather die than let his only sons get hurt. _But at what cost?_

The sound of a door slamming jolted John back to reality. He stood up quickly and started walking down the stairs, pretending that nothing had happened. He pulled out the slip of paper as two people walked up the stairs past him. Sammy should have been exceling at gym, but after everything he heard, maybe he wasn't. John decided on a whim to check anyway.

After asking for directions to the gym, John found his way to the conference area. Maybe he could get more information on Dean as well, considering they both had the same physical education teacher.

It was a short wait to see Isaac Harper, the gym teacher. He wasn't a very buff guy, but John could tell that he was stronger than he appeared. He was wearing the staff shirt (a white polo with the school name and mascot on it) and he wore glasses with his wavy hair. He didn't seem like a gym teacher, but Dean said good things about him.

As John sat down, a brief feeling of dread passed through him. _What if they're not taking this seriously?_ No, no way. Dean always loved sports and gym. But Sammy…?

"Hey!" Isaac reached his hand out, which John grasped and shook. "Alright, and you're…?"

 _He's asking who I am._ "John Winchester. I'm Sam and Dean's father." Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as before.

"Aah yes! Sam and Dean Winchester. Both are fine young boys. Have they always been as active as they seem in class?" At least Isaac seemed to be fond of them. Good sign.

"Oh yeah, you bet. They both love this kind of stuff." _I hope._

"Well, that's clear. Not to mention Dean's the star quarterback of the football team. You must be proud of him." Wait, what?! Dean was on the football team?

"Super." John tried to keep his voice steady. "I haven't been able to make many of the games. How's Sam doing?" He was going to have to talk to Dean after this. _Wait, no. They don't even know I'm here. They can't know that I'm here._

Isaac's face hardened a little. "Sam's also excellent at sports, but he doesn't talk much does he?" John shook his head, knowing that fact. "Well, I've never seen him talk to anyone, but I do hear people talking behind his back. I guess that could be expected with him being as introverted as he is. I've talked to his counselor about it, and she's talked with him a few times, but nothing seems to work. I've worked here for four years now and I've with kids like Sam in the past, but they've all been able to open up. Sam isn't letting anyone help him. You've probably talked to some of the teachers and counselors, so you might know what's up. He seems very attached to Dean, though. This is Sam's last hour, and every day Dean comes straight to the gym to walk with him. That's the only time I ever see him say more than a few words."

 _I guess it's not getting any better._ "Yeah, I've been trying to work that out." John lied. "His mother died when he was an infant so Dean's been taking up that roll. Sam has been having a hard time lately." Why was he telling this guy?

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Dean seems to have loved him very much. And, on that note, he's gotten into a few fights here." John pretended to look interested, though it wasn't that hard to do. "Don't get me wrong, Dean is quite popular, and he has the respect of almost everyone. There are even a few girls who seem to have taken a keen interest in him." Isaac noted with a bit of a laugh. "However, it only takes as much as a wrong joke to set him off. Usually it's one of those 'Yo' mama' jokes that have been a thing with the students, but it was only a few weeks ago that one of the other boys must have said something like that and, though Dean isn't usually effected by those, he lost it and punched the kid. That was when he got the week of detention. He also gets very annoyed when the other students are talking about Sam. Lots of the 8th graders have 4th grade siblings, and they all consider Sam the 'odd kid out.' Dean has hit quite a few people who were talking about that. He's been to see counselors as well, and that seems to help a little, but still." Isaac looked at John questioningly.

"Dean has always been like that. It's been just as rough a time from him as it has been for Sam." _You need to stop talking or you're gonna regret it._

Isaac nodded. "Yes, well, I would maybe talk with Dean. You're his father, and he seems to have a lot of respect for you. He says you're a mechanic?"

"It's the family business." A half-decent lie. "Dean wants to take over after me."

"That explains a lot. Well, maybe you can help those boys more than the counselors. They're great kids, John. All they need is someone to talk to." He smiled and looked at his watch. "Do you have any questions? I have to pick up my daughter in a few minutes, so I have to leave. You can email me if you'd like as well."

"Thank you. No, I think that's it." They shook hands again and both left the gym, John right in front of Isaac. The gym teacher closed the doors and put a sign up that said: "Back in 15."

John lingered outside the door for a moment, not wanting to go to Dean's next class. _He's been to see the counselors, and that seems to help a little…._ If that was really the case, then maybe the counselors knew something he didn't. Or worse, they _knew_.

His mind was made up before he even knew what he was doing. The front office was near the entrance, where the crowd was thinning out. John walked in and went to the secretary at the nearest desk.

The secretary looked up from her notepad. A pager beeped behind her. "What can I do for you?" she asked.

"Who's the counselor for Winchester?"

"That would be Isabelle Brooks. You can find her in the scheduling office. Down the hall and to the left; There's a sign." She looked back down at her computer.

"Thanks…" John said in mock gratitude. He made his way down the hall, pushing his way through the thinning crowd.

The scheduling office was a big room tucked away at the end of the hall. There were a few people inside, but for the most part the main area was empty. He spotted a sign above one of the doors in the back: Ms. Brooks.

"Can I help you with something?" John whirled around to come face-to-face with another woman, though older this time. She must have been one of the counselors.

"Yes, actually, is Ms. Brooks in?" John sighed inwardly.

"Yes she is. Right in that room over there." The counselor pointed to the door that he found only moments ago. John flashed a fake smile of almost thanks before moving to Isabelle Brooks' office. He knocked lightly on the door, which was quickly answered by a nice-looking woman. _Is every girl here this hot?_

"Hi." She smiled at him; her red lipstick was very distracting. It went perfectly with her long brown hair. _So this is who they were seeing. I gotta say, they're lucky._

"Hi." He smiled back awkwardly, though it wasn't forced. "You're Isabelle Brooks?"

"In the flesh."

"I'm John Winchester. You've been speaking with my sons – Sam and Dean, correct?"

"Why yes I did. Sweet boys. Why don't you come on in?" Isabelle gestured for John to come in, and he sat down next to her desk. It was a comfortable chair.

"They came in here just a few days ago. Actually it was just Dean; he hit one of the other boys after he made a smart comment about Sam. There's been a lot of that going around. The poor kid is just getting one thing after another. He's very introverted, you know. That is, until he's around Dean. Those two are inseparable." She shrugged and sighed. "Sam won't open up much. It sounds like he's been through a lot, though."

John nodded slowly. What did she mean: _he's been through a lot_? What did she know? "So what have they been telling you?" He needed information.

"Oh, well, they know how busy you are, what with your job and all, so they don't really want to bother you with this kind of stuff. I think it's very sweet and all, but you should talk to them more. They have a lot of respect for you – especially Dean." _Tell me something I don't know._ "I know that Sam has been dealing with depression lately, and that definitely concerns his brother, but I think they're starting to get comfortable with things here. Maybe Sam can make a few friends soon and open up. I know for a fact that it would benefit everyone." Isabelle looked at John, waiting for him to say something.

"Yeah." He said bluntly, not knowing what else to say.

"They also tell me that you move around a lot for work. I hope you can stay here for a while; I know Dean loves it and he's really trying to help Sam get situated."

"We'll see where the job takes us, I guess." _They're getting too comfortable…_

"Dean's almost the complete opposite of Sam, too. He's so outgoing and he has so many friends. You should be proud of him."

"Of course I am," John managed. It was true – he was incredibly proud of Dean, but he couldn't risk staying here much longer, even though Dean was finally starting to fit in. He had found his place, and now it was about to get taken away from him. It wasn't like John liked doing it to the boys; he only wanted to keep them safe. If he couldn't do that, what would Mary think?

"Is there anything else they told you?" This meeting was making him uncomfortable. He didn't want to have to think about how much Sam and Dean (or Dean, anyways) were enjoying something only to have their father rip it from their lives. Maybe they _could_ settle down for a while longer. They would finally begin to feel like actual human beings, not some outcasts who were shunned everywhere they went. Maybe he could—

"John?"

John's vision snapped back into focus. Had he been drifting? "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

Isabelle smiled sideways at him. "I was just saying that, like I said before, they haven't told me much. I have been able to paint a picture with it, but only a vague one. You should be with them more; maybe go see a few of Dean's football games next year, help him with stuff. I know he'd appreciate it, maybe even more than you think." Her voice was lined with affection.

"Yes, of course. Thank you so much for your time." John stood up and shook Isabelle's hand quickly before reaching for the door. On the way out, he turned back slightly and whispered:

"Thank you for listening to them."

"Where were you all day?" Dean asked, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.

John reached for a beer in the fridge. His head ached and he wanted nothing more than to sleep for an eternity. Sleep and not think. "Out. I had a small job to do."

Dean raised an eyebrow at his father, not believing him. He knew better than to question him, though, so that was all he did. In return, he got a tired glance and a deep sigh from John. Dean took a deep breath and tried not to yell a smart comeback; sometimes the man whom he looked up to and respected so much got on his nerves.

John moved through the small apartment to his room in silence, walking past Dean without a glance. He didn't see it, but behind his back Dean threw him a face, one that he probably would have gotten in trouble for had John seen it. He also threw John the finger.

John was oblivious (to Dean's relief). He stalked into his room, which he liked – small and practical. There was a single queen-sized bed in the corner and a big bookshelf across from it. John's few belongings were scattered across the floor, though his weapons were stacked neatly in the bookshelf.

He slid onto his bed, not even bothering to take off his jacket or shoes. The cool crinkle of the pillow on his face was a strange comfort. Unexpected but appreciated.

The events of the day unfurled in John's mind, and soon he was coated in a thin layer of sweat. Sammy and Dean's teachers were right, and John knew this. They were right, but they didn't understand. They could never understand. Whatever killed Mary that night eight years ago was in Sammy's nursery, and John could only assume that it was after his Sam. He couldn't risk losing his son – _either_ of his sons. Not like he lost Mary.

John sat in silence, allowing the pain to wash over him; he had made sure to lock the door after he came in. He curled into a ball as memories flooded in – the emotions that he had been pushing down before threw up in his mind. Maybe if he let them out now he wouldn't be weighed down later.

He fell asleep quickly after exhaustion wiped him out.

It could have been a minute or it could have been all night. All John knew was that he was woken up by his bladder, of all things. At first he refused to acknowledge it, but soon it was overpowering. He took a deep breath and sat up, partially blinded by sleep. He cautiously opened the door as he rubbed his eyes and yawned. The apartment was silent as John crept towards the single bathroom –

And froze.

Sam and Dean's room was right next to the bathroom. Usually it was dead quiet, but now John could hear voices beyond the shut door. John put his ear up to it, forgetting his need to pee momentarily.

"…hurt?" Sammy's last word came out muffled.

"Nah. I mean, sure, a little, but I'll be fine. Nothing I haven't been through before. Don't worry about it." Dean breathed in sharply, quickly followed by a squeak of apology from Sammy.

"Dean, it's not fair! You shouldn't have to fight like that." Pause. "Not for me…" Sam added quietly. John could hear the shuffling of feet on the carpet.

"Hey, Sammy, it's cool. You'll make friends eventually. Promise." Dean's voice was comforting. "I don't mind the fights. Actually, I kinda' need them."

Sammy laughed bitterly. "Easy for you to say. I mean, you're freaking quarterback of the football team. People love you." There was a tinge of jealousy in his voice. "Does dad even know about that?"

Dean gave a single sharp laugh. "Of course not. We'd be out of this school in a second if dad caught us fitting in. This is the closest we've been to normal since mom –"

At that John broke away. Tears had begun to build up in his eyes as he stepped into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He used the toilet and then stood, looking at himself in the mirror; his eyes were dark and shadowed, and he had a five-o'clock shadow (which was quickly growing into a full beard). He looked awful.

A wave of exhaustion suddenly washed over him, and his legs gave out from underneath his body. John slumped to the floor and shut his eyes, falling into a restless sleep against the bathroom wall, its single light still on above him.


	2. Chapter 2: Cara

**This is the second to last chapter, the last of which will hopefully be done before long. Hopefully. Feel free to leave comments as well. Happy New Year and enjoy!**

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Cara Finn remembered the day that Samuel Winchester first walked into her fourth grade classroom- September 4, 1991. She had been reviewing her emails (mostly from concerned parents and news of staff meetings) when a slight noise made her look up from her computer. Standing in the doorway was a small boy (for his age, at least). His brown hair was combed, and he was relatively clean, if you didn't count the large, wrinkled flannel or the long red cut on his cheek. He stood there for a minute, clearly unsure of what to do. It was 7:13- nearly a half hour before school began.

Cara looked at him, wondering if he was there for class. It hardly seemed likely, being so early. After two minutes of nothing, however, she teared herself away from her work and approached the boy slowly.

"Hey there; are you here for class?" She said in her softest voice, smiling.

The boy looked up, giving Cara a quick onceover. He eyed the room suspiciously, then looked back to Cara.

"Yes." He said simply. "Are you Ms. Finn?"

"That's me." She led him inside and took the seating chart that she had completed an hour ago. "What's your name?"

"Sam Winchester. I'm new here."

"Aah, that explains why you're not on the chart. Well, why don't you have a seat in this desk here?" She led him to towards the back of the room and gestured to a desk, and after a moment asked, "You know you're early, right? Are your parents here?"

Sam Winchester looked uncomfortable for a moment, his dark eyes shifting nervously. "N-no, but my brother wanted to get here early." He offered no other explanation than that.

"Well, in that case, I hope you don't mind if I get a little more work done before class. Let me know if you need anything, alright?" Unsure of what to do, Cara awkwardly made her way back to her desk. Despite her best intentions, she couldn't help but stare covertly at Sam.

It was easy to see that he was uncomfortable with his new surroundings. His eyes shifted and he looked up every few seconds to look around the room. A few minutes after he sat down, he pulled out a piece of paper and began to draw. Cara watched him, mesmerized by the determined look he had when he wrote. So much so, in fact, that she didn't realize that kids were starting to trickle in.

Cara snapped out of her reverie and stood up, pulling the seating chart onto the middle desk in the first row. She calmly showed the other students to their seats and introduced herself, but her attention was always pulled back towards Sam. By now, the students were flooding in, and his head was up and alert, his eyes searching, studying each of them. He turned the paper on his desk over, hiding whatever he was drawing.

Before she knew it, it was 7:45, and the first bell rang. The class was almost full, and everyone was talking eagerly about their summers – all except Sam Winchester, who kept his head down, almost as if to disappear.

Cara stood up, and almost immediately the attention of the class was on her (minus a few kids talking here and there). She smiled at them and quickly wrote her name of the board, introduced herself, and pulled up her webpage. She handed out the class syllabus (due by Friday!), and set off on rules, expectations, and whatever else you could think of that might be involved with the first day of school. During second hour, her art class, she gave them a worksheet to fill out and a drawing sheet, then the rest of the hour was theirs to talk about what they like. Sam Winchester kept to himself.

Soon enough, the bell rang, and second period was over. Each student stood up and turned in their worksheet, then filed out to their next block of hours. Sam was the last one to leave, and after a moment of contemplation she pulled him off to the side.

"Hey Sam," she said, "If there's anything you want to talk about or need help with, don't be afraid to come talk to me, ok?"

There was a moment of silence. Oh God, was that the wrong thing to say?

Sam stood still for what seemed like much longer to Cara than it really was, but he eventually looked up at her and gave her a weak smile – the first time she'd seen him smile. "Thanks."

Cara Finn watched Sam Winchester leave without another word.

Sam Winchester was absent on the second day of school.

The night of the second day, Cara had reviewed her students' worksheets. The point of them was to tell her a little bit about the way the class would run, and the personalities of the students. Simple Q&A. The last one belonged to none other than Winchester.

She held his for a moment, silently pondering the story of this quiet kid. He seemed nice enough at first, but things could easily change. Who knew this kid's background?

Name: Samuel (Sam) Winchester

Born: May 2, 1983

Age: 10

Favorite subject: Math

Favorite movie: Blade Runner

Favorite animal: -

...

Cara looked at his sheet for a long time after she read it. What fourth grader's favorite movie was Blade Runner? That seemed a little heavy to show someone that young. After that, however, the rest of the sheet wasn't filled out. What could he have been doing that whole class time?

Cara thought about her strange new student for the rest of the night.

The third day was much like the first, except that Sam came only five minutes before first bell rang, and they were starting to learn things today. Being an English and art teacher, Cara liked to get creative with her lesson plans, to make them less boring. She studied Sam as he reviewed the note sheets that she'd given the class, mainly on vocab and simple grammar. He looked perplexed until she explained, and after that he seemed to get it just fine. The only problem was that what he was confused about was simple review from last year – something that he should already know. First hour went by with this review, until the class changed direction at the second bell.

Most of the class left, and a new group of people came in. Sam and another girl, Carley, who sat next to him, stayed for the art class (which was actually a 5th grade class; a 4th grader could only get in after discussion with a counselor) as new faces sat themselves at different desks. No one spoke to the new boy, and the new boy spoke to no one. That class went by much like the one before it, but instead of worksheets they drew pictures.

At the end, Sam left without a word.

At the end of the day, Cara sat at her desk and looked over her students' papers. Her eyes ran over Sam's paper - completely filled out, 100%. She smiled to herself; maybe this year wouldn't be so bad for him.

"Ms. Finn?"

Cara's head shot up. "Sam!" She fixed the papers in front of her, quickly shifting his to the bottom of the pile. "What can I do for you?"

Sam stood awkwardly in front of her desk as another person entered the room. He was much taller, probably a 7th or 8th grader, and he wore a brown leather jacket. He looked at Sam, and then at Cara.

"Ms. Finn, this is my brother, Dean." Sam looked up at his brother, his eyes glowing. He obviously looked up him, and from the way Dean regarded his brother, they both loved each other very much.

Dean looked Cara in the eye, and then held out his hand, "Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too!" Cara took his hand, startled at the sudden introduction.

"Ms. Finn, if anything ever happens to my brother, please, let me know." Dean's voice was dead serious.

Cara, confused, nodded. "Of course." It was almost a question.

"Thank you." And with that, the two of them walked out, Dean's arm around his brother's shoulder.

Cara Finn sat at her desk, thinking about everything and nothing at all.

Five weeks passed in much the same way. Well, almost five. At the end of the fourth week, rumors started flying about the strange, quiet new kid. His odd habits didn't help his case, either. For example, he had a habit of drawing strange symbols on some of his papers. He kept them hidden at first, on only a few papers and on the back of his hand. But it didn't last long.

It started on a Friday, right after school ended. Sam was going to find his brother, who was in gym class, when he was approached by an older boy- a 7th grader. He found Sam walking in the hall by himself. Another kid who happened to be in the hall realized that it was his chance to do something, so he began audio recording.

Boy: Hey, you. Yeah you. Stop!

Sam: -

Boy: Hey, what was that you were drawing a few days ago? Are you some sort of devil worshiper?

Sam: N-

Boy: You're a freak, ya know that?! My sister saw what you were drawing- symbols and stuff. You're going to hell, ya know?

Girl: Get away from him. *Punching sounds* No! Stop!

Boy: Freakin' devil worshiper!

Sam: *crying*

Girl: *shuffling sounds* Get the hell away from him, Gabe! What the hell is your problem?

Gabe: And you! You're not getting off easy for helping him!

Girl: *more shuffling and dragging* You son of a bitch, just leave him alone!

Boy #2: What the fuck do you think you're doing to my brother you son of a bitch?

Gabe: *Punching sounds* *whimpering* No… no stop please…

Sam: Dean stop!

Dean: Sammy, are you hurt? *rustling* Hey, you, what the hell are you doing with that recorder? Give me that - *end of recording*

News of the incident spread like wildfire over the next week. Cara Finn was informed of the incident relatively quickly, as it was noted that she was one of the only teachers who seemed to have any relationship with Sam Winchester. Not surprisingly, Sam and his brother were absent the next week.

When Sam did come back, he was picked on incessantly. It was around this time as well that Sam began to speak with Cara. Little things at first, like "good morning" or "have a good day," but he soon began asking her questions, and though Cara didn't ask him anything personal, she began to know the real Sam Winchester. He began to trust her more and more, until she felt that it was time to ask him some questions.

"So Sam, what's life like at your home?" She asked after school one day.

Sam looked up at her, surprised, and then at his desk. He seemed… ashamed. "It's fine." He said simply.

Cara looked at him seriously. "Look," she began slowly, "I know you're not much for talking, but you come into school with new cuts and bruises all the time. It's beginning to worry me. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

Sam stayed silent for a moment. His eyes shifted as he decided what he would say next. "I know." He whispered. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you. You don't understand. My dad'll have my head if I tell you..." he paused, "plus you'd call me a freak."

Cara nearly gasped. How could he say that? While it was strange and a bit concerning, Cara doubted that it was something she couldn't help with. "I understand, Sam. Just remember that you can trust me, I promise."

Sam faked a smile and made his way to the door, then stopped, and without looking back said, "Monsters. My family hunts monsters. And not the good kind… I'm sorry, I have to go." And with that, he ran out of the room.

Cara, stunned, could only stand and watch him go. Monsters? Maybe there was more to this than she had originally thought.

The next day, Sam stayed after school again and sat quietly. Cara waited patiently, not wanting to spook her student. They sat for ten minutes before Sam started talking.

"I didn't find out about it until a few years ago." He said.

"What's that? Find out about what?"

"Hunting. I never expected it to be what it is." He put his head in his hands, breathing sharply. "I just want to be normal. I want to have friends. I don't want to travel all the time." He looked up at his teacher. "I don't want to leave."

Cara instinctively put her hand on his back. He didn't flinch. "You don't have to leave. You still can make friends! Is hunting what you do when you're absent?"

Sam looked at her, his eyes bright, as if he wanted to start crying. "You don't understand. I have to leave. Soon enough it won't be safe here for us anymore. That or dad will find out I've been talking…" His eyes bore into hers. "You can't tell anyone anything. Please."

"Of course, Sam."

He sighed and looked through the window on the far side of the classroom. It was raining. "You think I'm a freak, don't you?"

Cara shook her head. "You're anything but a freak, Sam Winchester. I don't ever want to hear you say that again." She said sternly.

Sam smiled at her. "I wish people would say things like that more often…" He looked up suddenly, his eyes widening. "Dean…"

The sound of shoes squeaking on the floor made Cara's head snap around. Sam's brother was walking towards him, his shoulders set and his face hard.

"We gotta go, Sam. Dad'll be back soon." He looked at Cara menacingly. "Come on."

"Have a good weekend, boys." Cara said, almost to herself. They didn't look back.

Sam and Cara talked almost every day after that. Cara learned things she would have rather not heard, but she didn't say anything. Sam drew her pictures of different "monsters," some of which were enough to give her nightmares. Nevertheless, she pursued her conversations with her student, determined to help him.

She learned that he had no mother- she was murdered when he was a baby. Since then, his father, John, took it upon himself to find her killer. Another monster. For nine years he had been searching with little success. He would leave his children for days, even weeks at a time on "hunting" trips, during which the boys did their best to entertain and convince themselves that he was coming back. It tore the family apart, but at the same time it strengthened their relationships (between the boys, anyways). All of them had seen some shit, which was probably an understatement.

As much as she hated to admit it, Cara was having trouble believing some of Sam's story. She came up with her own conclusions for things, like perhaps the "monsters" were other people, explaining why he was so anti-social, and his father was potentially abusive. "Hunting" might have been his way of avoiding the conflict, the way children do; hiding in his own head to get away from the real world. He did, however, hold a convincing argument, however preposterous. She believed as much as she could.

He continued to talk to her, and she was there for him when things got rough. More than once some upperclassman would have the nerve to beat him up, and after his brother beat his attacker's sorry ass, Sam would find his way back to Cara. At one point, she even brought the two of them out for ice cream.

Teacher and student grew closer and closer as the year came to a close. They didn't talk over vacation, but their conversations resumed with the New Year. Sam told her about his break: they had mostly stayed at home (which was the apartment that they were renting), but their father had taken them to an ice festival and, after, out to dinner. It was the most quality time they had spent together since April.

"Sam, do you think that your dad will come to parent-teacher conferences on the 11th?" Cara asked on the Friday after break.

Sam looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. "Nope; he has no reason to go. He probably wants to leave as soon as possible, anyways."

"Well that's too bad. I'd love to meet him." Cara made her best disappointed face. Sam looked guilty, but she knew that he was probably right. She would never meet John Winchester. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't even make contact with him. She'd tried calling, emailing, and even went to their apartment on one occasion, but he was never there.

"He'd probably like you. He wouldn't show it, but I know he would." Sam frowned. "But it's probably better if you didn't meet him. I'd get in trouble."

At this point, Cara knew enough about Sam's family life to know that he was right. John Winchester would be furious if he knew that Sam had found a friend in his teacher, and to make it worse, she _knew_. No, not furious, but upset. The more Sam talked about him, the less it seemed like he was a heartless criminal and more like a father going through a tough time. She felt a real pity for him, though she knew he'd never accept her sympathy.

Cara sighed. "Well, at least I got to meet you and your brother. Two Winchesters are much better than none."

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "Have a good weekend, Ms. Finn."

"You too, Sam! Don't get into too much trouble!"

"I won't."

Conferences were on a Thursday. It was a day off for the students, so Cara didn't get to see Sam that day. She didn't even think about seeing John. In the morning alone, over 40 parents came to check up on their children. Cara felt good about being able to talk to them about their kids, even if not _all_ of them were able to check up.

That changed, however, after the lunch break, around one o'clock. A tall, rugged-looking man in a brown jacket walked in, looked around, and found a desk in the back. He looked at the drawing on it, and cringed visibly. On closer inspection, Cara realized that it was Sam's desk he was at.

 _Oh my God, did he really come?!_

Cara quickly finished with her current conference and made her way to him.

"Are you Sam's dad?"

And so it was. He seemed like a very nice man, that John Winchester. It was obvious that he was having a hard time, with the loss of his wife and everything, but that he was certainly trying to take care of his boys. _In what ways, though?_

"You know, Sam's very quiet."

She continued, and as she spoke she could see the revelation on Mr. Winchester's face, and she knew that she needed to stop talking, but she couldn't. She knew that she made a promise to Sam, but now that she was here, in the moment, she needed to talk. She needed to tell him the impact that he was having on his son.

"He draws pentagrams, Mr. Winchester. That's not what a 4th grader should be thinking."

John's eyes widened, and his mouth quivered for a moment. "He watches a lot of… horror movies."

At that moment, Cara lost it. After what she'd heard from Sam, she knew that it wasn't just "horror movies." It was much worse, and from the look on his face, John knew it, too.

She was almost yelling now. John Winchester was frantically trying to leave, obviously realizing that it had been a bad idea to come here, but it was just fueling her. Sam. Needed. Help.

Cara brought out the picture that Sam drew for her- the one of the "shifter." John was at a complete loss for words. He looked damaged, to say the least, in that moment. He looked vulnerable and depressed, like he knew exactly what he was doing and it was killing him.

He left, looking dizzy, with Cara following him to the door. She didn't say anything else, knowing that he knew that she was there. That was enough. He knew; she'd gotten the point across.

People were looking now. Embarrassed, she reentered her classroom and resumed the conferences. She didn't know how she felt after that experience. She wasn't happy, but she didn't regret it, either.

Somehow she knew that she would never see Sam Winchester again.

She was wrong.

* * *

September 25, 2007

3:56 pm

There was a knock at the door.

Cara Finn looked up from her desk to see a young man standing in the doorway. He wore a brown corduroy jacket with a flannel underneath, and his messy, long(ish) brown hair stuck up in strange places. He was tall (like, _really_ tall) and handsome, but it was hard to get past the long scratch on his cheek. While he looked strangely familiar, Cara couldn't put a finger on where she'd seen him before.

"Can I help you?" She asked, setting down her book.

"Hi, are you Cara Finn?" The man asked, smiling.

"That's me." His smile widened.

"Do you remember me? Sam Winchester?" He approached her desk and looked around the room. It wasn't even the same school that he went to all those 17 years ago, but the room still had the same feeling. Posters and artwork lined the walls.

Cara stood up, her mouth ajar. "Sam Winchester?" She looked him up and down, obviously surprised. "Oh my God, it's been so long. You just... left." She looked into his eyes, astounded.

Sam looked embarrassed. "Yeah, well, let's just say I'm assuming he went to conferences." He laughed.

Cara nodded slowly. "That he did. I don't regret what I said, either. How are you doing, Sam?" She sat down in a student's desk and gestured for Sam to sit in another.

"Well, pretty good, all things considered. Dean and I were in town, and I heard about what happened, so I figured I'd stop by." He glanced around the room again. "What grade?"

"Eighth. I figured middle school wasn't all that bad."

"Nice. Are you married?" Sam asked, noticing her name tag: Mrs. Finn.

"Happily married for eleven years now. I've got two boys and a little girl. Steven, Matthew, and Rebecca." Cara beamed, but her smile was quickly followed by a sad look. "Though you heard what happened."

Sam bowed his head. "I'm so sorry about that. Cancer isn't an easy thing to deal with at any point. I hope your son gets better soon."

"Thank you, Sam. How's your dad?" Cara asked, changing the subject. "And your brother?"

Sam looked down for a moment, then back at his old teacher. "Dean's doing fine. We've just been a little busy lately."

Cara too the hint. Poor boys, to loose a father that young. "So how old are you now, Sam?"

"Twenty-five now. Twenty-six in May."

"You grew up so well." She chuckled. "And did you make it to college?"

"I actually applied to law school- I was a senior at Stanford when I... dropped out." He looked down again. "Family problems."

"Aah I see. I'm sorry." Cara said, not quite knowing what to say to that.

"Well, I should probably get going," Sam began, shifting in his seat, "but I actually came here to say... thank you."

"What for?"

"What you did for me, way back when. You really helped me out, ya know? You taught me not to be afraid to put myself out there, and to make friends. I mean, I've hit a few rough patches, but it really did me good. Thank you." Sam began to stand up when Cara lightly grabbed his jacket sleeve.

"Sam, I want to thank you, too _._ You showed me a different perspective of things, and even that's helped me in the past years." Cara let go of his jacket and stood up with him.

"It was nice talking to you, Mrs. Finn."

"Please, Cara."

"Cara then." Sam put out his hand, which Cara took and shook. Sam's hands were firm and rough, like a carpenter... or something. "Maybe I'll see you at some point in the future."

"Maybe. Thank you for stopping by, Sam. Pass on my regards to your brother for me."

Sam nodded, smiled, and left without another word.

That was the last time Cara Finn saw Sam Winchester.


End file.
